Who's Gene?
by Jazzola
Summary: An accident at a call-out has some unforeseen consequences. When Gene is at his most vulnerable, can Alex help the Manc Lion return?
1. The Fall

When she closed her eyes, it was imprinted on her eyelids.

Him falling, falling, falling.

It had all started safely enough; a fairly standard (if a death in suspicious circumstances can ever be called 'standard') call to what appeared to be a dead body at a local demolition site from a member of the public. Gene Hunt, ever the DCI and commander, had swept out of the office as usual, a hurricane in black wool, and she'd hurried after him, tutting at the sexist remarks he'd thrown Shaz's way to imply that she couldn't come. The Quattro had suffered its usual loving abuse, tyres screeching in protest as it bolted round London; to pass the time and quell car-sickness, Alex had counted the number of close misses they'd had with various pedestrians and other road-users. She was down to her toes and receiving strange looks from the back by the time the Audi had finally found its way to Elgar House, a long disused building that had once happily housed disabled children.

_Strange place to leave a body, _she'd thought disjointedly as they got out, heading up to find the cadaver in question. An elderly lady had been sitting on the steps of the house, sipping lukewarm tea provided by a young bobby hovering awkwardly next to her, who'd visibly quailed as he saw the car coming towards them.

"You are?" Gene had barked at the lady, his snakeskin boots thudding on the dank concrete as he headed over. The PC had opened his mouth to speak, but the lady got in first.

"Elizabeth Grayne. Are you police?"

"Yeah. Where's the body?"

"Up on the first floor. There's a balcony round at the back of the house, it was just in front of that."

Gene had nodded gravely and strode off, leaving Alex to smile apologetically at Elizabeth Grayne and hurry after him.

"You know, there is a funny thing called respect, Gene, you should try learning it sometime," she'd hissed as Gene took the steps three at a time, almost six foot's worth of broad frame impatient with the small, easy steps. He'd just snorted, pausing at the top of the stairs to get his bearings and marching off again before Alex could even catch up. _Damn these high heels. Must remember to get some flat shoes... trainers? But then he'd tower over me._

Her thoughts had been interrupted by Gene's triumphant "found 'im!" a few yards away; she'd hurried after him to find him crouched over what appeared to be a corpse, reaching out to touch him.

"Gene, what are you doing? You'll contaminate the crime scene!" Alex had hissed, grabbing at his shoulder, confused. Gene might have been a complete idiot at times, but even he knew about not contaminating the crime scene.

He had spared her a contemptuous look before pressing his fingers to the body's neck.

And then Alex had realised.

_He's still breathing!_

Their 'body' had turned out to simply be a drunk tramp taking a nap.

Gene had growled, standing up; Alex rolled her eyes, knowing she should be thankful the man wasn't dead but at the same time pissed off at a wasted call-out. _Ah well, might as well make the __most of it._

Leaning down towards the man, she had begun to speak to him, putting her hand on his shoulder to try and rouse him, attempting and failing to ignore the stench of alcohol that had hung around him like flies to meat. Gene had already stepped back, his face a mask of disgust; Alex raised her eyebrows at him. _You get in a similar state on a regular basis, Mister._

"Sir? Can you hear me? Sir?"

The tramp had remained immobile. Alex had eased herself up, brushing off the knees of her tight jeans.

"He's just utterly intoxicated. We should take him back to the station and keep an eye on him there."

"Don't want that in the cells," Ray had muttered, staring at the now snoring figure lying just in front of the balcony. Alex had simply raised her eyebrows.

"Guv, give me a hand with him."

Gene had grumbled, but reluctantly moved forwards to help her drag the slumbering form to its feet, supporting it as best he could whilst trying to catch a glimpse of her cleavage. Alex had huffed at him, taking the tramp's head and shoulders and deliberately putting her hand under his arse to annoy Gene. He'd just glared at her.

Caught up in their little game, neither of them had noticed the tramp's eyes flickering open.

"AAAHHHHHHH!"

The tramp had writhed, startled and frightened; Alex had been thrown onto her back somewhere near Ray and Chris, but Gene had been pushed back against the railings.

Alex had only been able to watch in horror as they buckled under his full force, sending him twisting down towards the ground.

A dead second had passed.

And then she had been screaming for an ambulance, hurtling down the stairs and nearly going flying herself, running to the unmoving body of her DCI, yelling his name in his ear as his eyes remained firmly closed. She'd barely even registered people milling around her and Gene, someone covering him with a blanket, Ray leaning over to mop up a tiny trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth; her world had been him, solely and entirely and utterly him, his closed eyelids and the cool, pockmarked skin of his cheek, the rasping breath against her fingers.

The ambulance had turned up after what felt like an eternity, loading the DCI in with almost military efficiency under the barked instructions of Ray Carling; the DS'd been whiter than the proverbial sheet, hands shaking as he yelled at the paramedics. Alex had remained silent, clutching Gene's scratched hand, the tears chasing each other down her cheeks as the siren shrieked miserably above her, a mechanical soul-mate for her mood.

And now she sat in a small hospital ward, still holding that same hand, watching that same man sleeping peacefully in front of her.

"He's very lucky," a doctor said softly behind her, reaching over her shoulder to adjust the nasal oxygen tubes crowding Gene's face. Alex watched his fingers on her lover's face, reaching out to stroke Gene's forehead, praying that he could feel her, derive comfort from her touch.

"If he was very lucky, he wouldn't have had the fall in the first place," she said quietly, her eyes still fixed on Gene. The doctor chuckled briefly, picking Gene's wrist up to check a drip, nodding in satisfaction at Gene's condition.

"Well, as far as we can see, Gene suffered few ill effects from the fall, it's a matter of concussion and bruising. He's lucky he fell onto grass; concrete could have killed him."

Alex nodded, squeezing Gene's limp fingers as the doctor moved away to check on another patient. Ray and Chris had long since gone home, only coming in briefly to reassure themselves that Gene was still breathing, clearly uncomfortable being around their DCI at his most vulnerable; she was alone in the small room, just her and Gene and the soothing beat of the ECG monitor by his side.

_He's lucky he fell onto grass; concrete could have killed him._

Alex sniffed, the emotions of the day finally catching up on her. Gene looked so... small, so delicate, something that needed to be protected. Such a role reversal to what he normally saw, his DI needing his help and his constant presence. He could have lost his life today.

A tear splashed onto his chest. It took Alex a minute to realise that it was hers.

"Ugh..."

Alex, still lost in her thoughts of losing Gene, didn't hear at first; her hand tightened on his as she relived his fall, his body twisting down, the hammer-blow of the thud, a hapless body meeting the cruel earth, the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth...

"Ow... yer 'urtin' me!"

"Gene?"

Alex all but leapt out of her chair, staring up at Gene's face as he blinked slowly, his eyes turning to meet hers, hazed with sleep, the hauntingly familiar blue-grey bringing tears to her own eyes.

"Gene, are you alright? In any pain? Do you want me to fetch the doctor? Did you want to talk to Chris and Ray? We've got the tramp in custody, I feel it was an accident, but you'll probably disagree with me... Gene? Gene, talk to me."

He looked straight into her eyes, a tiny line between his eyebrows as he licked his lips, preparing to speak.

"Gene?"

He opened his mouth, still staring at her, as though some aspect of her was confusing him.

The words came out cold, confused, and blunt.

"Who's Gene?"

* * *

><p>AN: I know, I need to finish off the stories I've got in progress, but this just kind of came to me, courtesy of my ball (it hit me on the back of the head and voila!), so I wanted to write it. Hope you like it, please remember to review- do people want more? Thanks for reading! Jazzola


	2. The Confusion

_"Who's Gene?"_

Alex couldn't breathe.

Was this some kind of sick joke? A product of Gene's warped sense of humour? Surely any second now he'd wink at her, that smug shit-eating grin on his face, and say "only kidding, Bolls" in that teasing tone she'd grown to love.

And yet when she looked deep into his eyes, when she reached out to touch his arm, she got her answer.

It broke her heart to see the confusion in Gene's eyes, the way he flinched away from her touch, huddling under the duvet.

Alex stared for a long moment, tears running into her open mouth, and then leapt from her seat and ran from the room.

* * *

><p>He didn't understand what was happening.<p>

His whole body ached, pain concentrated on his back and head, and yet he couldn't remember sustaining any injuries. That woman- whoever she was- had been holding his hand, crying over his prone body, sitting with him while he slept, calling him "Gene". He couldn't even remember her name.

_What's happening?_

He struggled to sit up, hissing through his teeth as he moved sore muscles far too abruptly; ignoring the pain, he looked around, taking in the small hospital room, the machines by his side. Had he been here long?

He vaguely remembered something about a demolition site, a man in a battered, stinking tweed jacket, but that was where his memories ended. He eased back onto the pillows behind him carefully, catching sight of a blackboard behind his head as he did so; someone had written 'EUGENE 'GENE' HUNT- AB NEGATIVE, FILE IN CABINET' in scrawling chalk.

_Gene Hunt? Is that who I'm meant to be?_

"Gene Hunt," he murmured to himself, hoping that something would come back to him as he said it but getting nothing. He frowned again. Who on earth was that woman? Something told him she was important; a nurse wouldn't hold his hand like that, she had to be someone close to him... but how could they be close if he didn't even remember her name? He wondered inwardly if this was some kind of nightmare, but when he closed his eyes the bleeping of the machine beside him continued, the steady hum of a hospital all around him buzzing away without him.

Now that his eyes were closed, he didn't want to open them again; the softness of the bed beneath him, the warmth nestling on his skin, was so relaxing, so soothing...

He gave up wondering, and simply let sleep claim him.

* * *

><p>Alex sat perfectly still, holding Gene's limp hand, as the doctor chuntered on about amnesia on the other side of the bed, somehow still under the illusion that she was listening. She didn't need to listen, she preferred to sit and watch Gene slumber; she knew all about amnesia anyway, she'd attended a course on it in... when had she attended a course on amnesia? <em>I can't remember... I can't remember when! How am I supposed to help Gene get his memory back if I can't even remember my own life?<em>

She sighed deeply, looking down at Gene's face, content to simply sit there and take him in. The painkilling drugs they were giving him had knocked him out; in the fragile state he was in, both physically and mentally, they didn't want to take any chances. He was relaxed and sedate, breathing slowly and deeply as she stroked his fingers, leaned forwards to press her lips to his temple, a tear sliding onto his hair as she did so. The doctor pressed a button somewhere and left, the quiet tap of rubber soles on linoleum barely even registering with Alex.

She didn't even know where to start. Gene wouldn't remember their relationship, he wouldn't remember his job, his colleagues; he wouldn't remember. Tears filled her eyes. She didn't bother wiping them away.

"Bolly."

She started, her blurred eyes swerving to stare down at Gene; he was frowning, his eyes shut tight, deep in sleep. Her heart skipped a beat, her breathing gradually increasing as she thought. _He's remembered his nickname for me! So he must remember something about me, anything at all. Or maybe not, maybe it's just a psychological effect of amnesia that he may pick up memories in sleep that he then won't remember when he wakes up and will have to re-discover awake. But... still. If he's saying Bolly in his sleep, does that mean he remembers me? And what if it's just a limited time thing, what if he wakes up and he remembers everything and we made all that fuss for nothing? They might have used anaesthetic on him, I don't know... please say they did and that was it! Please!_

His eyelids flickered.

_Oh God... what if that's it... what if it was temporary? Will he remember me?_

"Gene? Wake up. Come on, Gene, open your eyes."

She saw him stiffen slightly, his body instinctively drawing up, but before she could decide whether that was a good thing he opened his mouth.

"Why're yer callin' me Gene? M'name's not Gene," he mumbled, eyes still closed, and promptly drifted off again.

_He doesn't remember._

Alex sat stunned for a second, crushed hope slowly settling in her chest, and then bent her head onto his soft stomach, sobbing until she was spent, his hand crushed in her grasp as she too fell asleep, a restless, aching sleep filled with nightmares of Gene twisting down and down away from her, empty brilliant blue eyes boring into hers with misery in their depths.

_He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember._

_Well. He doesn't remember yet._

She had to focus on that. He didn't remember- yet.

* * *

><p><em>He raised his hand above his head, anger in the blue eyes too pale to ever concentrate on for long. The boy kneeling at his feet was paralysed with terror, shaking from head to toe; a scornful voice in his head mocked him for his weakness. He whimpered. He was so close to tears, but big boys don't cry, big boys don't cry, big boys never cry...<em>

_A stray tear dribbled down his cheek._

_"You pathetic little cry-baby! Filthy bastard!"_

_And then the pain._

_He screamed, curling into himself in a desperate last-ditch attempt at survival; he could see the belt being slipped through the belt-holes, and he cried out, scurrying into the corner, trapped, helplessly, helplessly trapped-_

_The belt was nearing-_

_Fury in the dead blue eyes-_

_He was going to die-_

"NO!"

He leapt upright in the dark, breath coming in short, panicky gasps, hands clutching at the rails of the bed as he fought to work it out. _It was a nightmare. Nothin' more._

He almost laughed with relief, but something stopped him: the nightmare had felt like so much more than a nightmare, it had felt like... like a memory.

Had something happened to him? Was that why he couldn't remember anything?

He lay slowly down, focusing on the comfort of the bed rather than the protests from his aching muscles. In the- nightmare- he'd been much younger. Only about... he couldn't have been more than five or six. He remembered the room he'd been in, a small room with pale wallpaper and a green carpet; somehow it was familiar, with just a trace of remembered terror that managed to eclipse some of the fonder feelings.

_I grew up in that room. That was our house._

He started as it came back to him, his battered brain finally making the link. He remembered carving his name on the door with a sharpened stick, him and someone else... who else? Someone important... someone he couldn't remember.

He couldn't think of anything else. He exhaled, groaning.

He had the feeling that dream had come just before something important. Something that had changed his life... and yet he had no idea what. Frustration began to take over, swamping him within a few seconds, and he punched the mattress, again and again, ignoring the bed's creaking protestations, attacking the soft cloth until he was panting with exertion, his rage gone. It had come so naturally to him, the pattern of punching, as though he'd been trained in it.

Just for a second, a brief second, he could smell the mingling sweat and leather and thick rope before it was gone again.

_OK. That was... good. Now I want ter know what 'appened ter put me 'ere. Why am I 'ere? An' while we're on the subject, 'oo the bloody 'ell am I?_

He closed his eyes, wondering if it would come if he wished it hard enough, but despite his aching head's best efforts it all stayed away. He sighed. Maybe it would come after another sleep.

He got the feeling his sleep would be dream-ridden... well, it always had been.

But he didn't know how he knew that.

* * *

><p>"Familiar places, familiar surroundings. That's what he needs. Places that hold a lot of memories. Don't overwhelm him- if he looks as though he feels faint or he starts acting strangely, get him out immediately. He'll need painkillers for at least another week, I'm entrusting you with the prescription. I think that's all, Ms Drake- you can go in and tell Gene what's happening, or we can get a nurse to fetch him if you prefer-"<p>

"No, I'll do it," Alex interrupted firmly, all but running past the doctor on her way to Gene's room in a flurry of batwing top and perm before he'd even finished speaking; the doctor smiled behind her back, picking up his clipboard from a shelf next to him and heading out with the secret grin still on his face.

"Thank you!" Alex called back as she yanked the door to Gene's room open.

He was asleep again, she noticed, a wry smile playing around her lips; even without his memories, he was the same lazy bugger. Sometimes she had to pour a cup of cold water over his back to get him up on time. The smile changed to a wicked grin. OK, maybe that was just her getting one over on her DCI, but it did have to happen sometimes; how he'd coped without her she had no clue.

She walked slowly towards the bed, realising as she approached that the ECG machine had been turned off. Evidently he was no longer on the danger list. He was down to one drip, his painkillers in her hand rather than an IV bag; he looked to her like a man ready to go home. _A sleeping angel. Oh, Gene._

"Gene? I've come to take you home," she said softly, pressing her hand to his forehead. His eyes slowly opened, focusing on hers; there was a glimmer of recognition, but none of the love normally written clear on his features when it was just them. Her heart ached a little.

"Come on. I can help you get dressed if you want."

"The Manc Lion does not need 'elp getting dressed," Gene snapped, and instantly looked confused. "Why did I say that?"

"It's your nickname, Gene. The Manc Lion. You're remembering," Alex beamed, her hurting heart suddenly rejoicing. _He remembers his nickname... what if he remembers me next? Us? Please let him remember me!_

"Where's 'ome?"

Gene's voice cut into her confused thoughts. Alex reached out to stroke his hair back, her smile growing a little as he first leaned back and then let her, his eyes glued to her fingers before returning to her eyes.

"Fenchurch. Where you're a DCI. It's above an Italian restaurant, we go there most nights."

"OK... er... I don't know yer name."

Alex choked back a fresh bout of sobs, choosing instead to focus firmly on him, his mesmerising blue eyes raking her features for anything he might recognise. She forced her trembling lips into a smile, determined to be strong, for herself, for Gene.

"Just call me Bolly."

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry about the delay- I'm doing five AS levels and they take time. Please remember (no pun intended) to review, and more as soon as I can write it. Hope you enjoyed- REVIEW! Jazzola


	3. The Dreams

The trip to Fenchurch seemed to take forever to Alex.

Gene was a different story.

_Lazy bugger, _she thought fondly as his snores lifted above the radio playing dimly in the background, his body lounging back in his seat. It was strange seeing him in the passenger seat of the Quattro; he'd only ever been there once, to her knowledge, and very briefly. She had to force herself to focus back on the road and not on her sleeping lion.

Luigi's seemed so loud after too long spent in a bleeping hospital room, holding her partner's hand in near silence; even the soft chords of 'Si, mi Chiamo Mimi' were too much for Alex today. Trying to ignore the raucous shouts and laughter of the trattoria, she shook Gene's shoulder carefully, lifting his head off the window and stroking his cheek, caressing the smooth skin, unable to stop herself.

"Gene? Gene? We're home. Wake up."

He didn't respond, didn't seem to have any inkling that she was there; Alex shook him harder, her eyebrows drawing together, unclipping their seatbelts to move closer together. Carefully, she put an arm round him.

He writhed away, a wordless, desperate cry tumbling from his lips as he scrambled as far away from Alex as he could.

"No... NO!"

He leapt from her as though she was white-hot, banging his head on the dashboard as he abruptly crashed back into the world, eyes wide open, panting as he took in his surroundings.

"Gene? Gene, are you alright?"

He lifted his head slightly, and although Alex swore the Manc Lion never showed fear, it was lit up in his eyes, out and out fright as he slowly took her in, half-crouched in the footwell, accepting her hand stroking his hair as his chest began to slow.

"Shh. Nightmare?" Alex asked gently, reaching over to open the car door and letting in a gust of freezing cold November air. Gene shivered, whether from the cold or from the question Alex didn't know.

"Mm."

"That's OK. What about?"

"I don't need ter be bloody psycho-twatalysed, OK? It's just a dream!" Gene hissed, the familiar confusion returning even as he spoke. Alex beamed.

"So you remembered that I'm a psychologist. Anything else, Gene?"

"Yer my DI. I'm a DCI. Yer arrived on the twentieth of July 1981 dressed as a prostitute. Yer were in danger... can't remember anythin' else."

Alex's beam widened.

"You remember us meeting. You're remembering."

_He's remembering. Through dreams._

_Oh, my Gene. Keep dreaming._

* * *

><p>He wasn't about to tell her where the nightmare ended. With her being strangled in front of his helpless eyes, constricted by barriers around his body, terror wracking his form even though he could barely remember the somehow familiar woman in skimpy clothing gasping her last out in front of him. He had a funny feeling the second part hadn't actually happened. There had been some other ending, but he hadn't particularly liked that ending either.<p>

He'd been with two other people. Who were they?

Looking out through the open car door, he could see a trattoria, a dimmed red glow from the windows and the distinctive smell of Italian food. The hubbub of familiar music and familiar voices almost brought a smile to his face, but he couldn't distinguish any of the speakers, who the singer was. Someone yelled something about lighting a fart and Gene started, eyes swerving round to the silhouette of a curly-haired man with a moustache that looked like Barbara Cartland's fanny and whom was currently waving what looked like a cigarette lighter around to much drunken hilarity. He frowned. _'E's goin' ter set fire ter the bloody curtains way 'e's goin'. Stick it under yer nose, pal, that'll make 'em laugh an' benefit the rest o' the world._

Bolly pulled the car door further open and eased him out, helping him stand on the cold pavement, shivering slightly in the crumpled suit they'd told him was his, said he'd been in when he'd had this mysterious accident nobody had really told him much about. He wished he could remember buying it. He did like it, though, it made him look (he reckoned, at least) manly and imposing. And, from the way Bolly was surreptitiously checking his arse out as she prodded him up the stairs next to the trattoria, it was certainly tight enough to attract the ladies.

_Or maybe just this one._

Bolly eased past him to open the door to the flat he now found himself outside, beckoning him in with a smile on her face as she backed out of the doorway; he advanced slowly, devouring his surroundings as she turned the lights on, letting him look around for himself, and headed through into the little kitchen, putting the kettle on to boil. His eyes alighted on the silver sheen of their own accord; his chest drew in a deep breath.

_Can you make me some tea, Gene? I'm parched._

_Make it yerself._

_Oh, come on. I'm beginning to think you can't make a cup of tea and you feel inadequate about it, and that's why you never do it._

_Course I can make a cup o' bloody tea!_

_Show me, then._

_'Ow yer plannin' on rewardin' me?_

_Oh, I don't know, Gene... I'm sure you can think of something..._

"You need to take your painkillers."

The same voice. Gene leaned against the doorframe, playing through the memory in his head until it was memorised, eyes still glued to the kettle until a cup of tea was pushed into his fingers and two pills.

"What?"

"Tea and painkillers, Gene. I'm supposed to supervise you taking them, so hurry up, I've got to go and have a word with Luigi about the heating."

Those huge hazel-green eyes fixed onto his. Somehow, Gene found himself raising the mug to his lips and tossing the painkillers in one at a time, gulping them down obediently. Something told him it wasn't normal for him to obey her; it was him giving the orders normally, and her following, or sometimes disobeying...

"Do you want to sleep in the same bed as me? Or is it too soon?"

Gene shrugged.

"Sofa's fine." Something told him to be careful. He wished the something would stop dropping bloody hints and give him his memory back.

"I'll go through and make it up. You look shattered, you need your rest."

_Just been resting._

_No, Gene, you fell asleep during the stakeout and left me and Shaz to keep guard. If you're falling asleep at work you must be exhausted._

_Your fault. If you 'adn't been keepin' me up all last night..._

_I seem to recall you were the one who woke me up, Mr Hunt. And I also seem to recall that I did most of the work..._

_A performance I am keen ter repeat, Bolls._

"The flat'll warm up soon, Luigi just forgot to turn the meter on. You get into bed, Gene, you'll get cold otherwise. I'll be down in Luigi's- the trattoria- telling everyone you're OK and keeping them quiet so you can rest. OK?"

He found himself nodding, sitting down on the garish striped sofa and leaning back into its softness, a tiny smile on his face. His eyes swerved of their own account, seeing a small red stain on the armrest, shaped in an arc; for a second he was scrubbing it in his mind's eye, bollock naked and trying to focus on cleaning the wine off the fabric whilst an equally naked Bolly rubbed his groin promisingly, fondling his balls, making him groan into the cushions.

The door closing told him Bolly had gone.

"No! Wait! I need ter ask yer somethin'!"

She couldn't hear him over the music from Luigi's.

He let himself fall slowly back into the cushions, hugging the duvet round him. She was right, it was bloody parky in here. _'Ooever Luigi is, when I next see 'im, 'e'll get a good bollockin'. _He rested his head on the armrest, closing his eyes for what he thought was only a moment.

Exhaustion claimed him in a flash.

* * *

><p><em>Smashed glass, tumbling around his leg. Sheets of beautiful, destroyed window.<em>

_A warrant card on the floor; he didn't pause to pick it up, but his eyes feasted on it as he strode past the flower display behind it. DI ALEX DRAKE._

_His chest surged._

_The door to the cool store was left open; he could just see a flash of white leather jacket, a tiny glimpse of dark curls._

_Bolly._

_He almost tripped over his own legs running in there, body numb with shock, heart racing so hard he swore he could give Chas Cale a run for his money. Her eyes were still just about open, hazed with the troubled calm of someone about to die before their time._

_"Bolly!"_

_He picked her up, cradling her in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. She wasn't breathing. She had bloody died. He nearly did the same through sheer terror._

_He would never show it to anyone, but Gene Hunt was shit scared._

I will not lose another DI. Not on my watch. Never. No. Bolly!

_Lying her on a sofa, ripping her top open with some smutty remark, he began to administer CPR, exactly as Sam Tyler had taught him, the voice echoing in his ears, telling him to press, both hands in the correct position, counting in time, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten, and then his impatience took over and he rested his head on her chest, desperately searching for any sign of a pulse, a breath, anything._

_He couldn't lose her._

_Mouth to mouth, Hunt. Mouth to mouth!_

_He dipped his head, silvery blue eyes fixed on her closed ones, the single tear snaking down her cold cheek._

_Her eyes flickered open an inch from him._

_He felt her first breath on his lips._

His eyes flew open.

What was that?

_Chas Cale. Epileptic. He fitted... I was somewhere near. Saving Bolly's life._

He shook his head. Nothing else would come; it only aggravated his sore neck.

Closing his eyes, he burrowed down into the soft cushion beneath his head again, wondering idly how it'd got there. Probably Bolly on her way back up from Luigi's. He smiled briefly, opening his eyes again and swearing under his breath. The sofa was too cold and too lonely. He always slept with someone else, in both senses of the word.

A light snoring came from the little bedroom he'd glimpsed before; guessing it was Bolly, he stepped forwards, wrapping his arms round himself for warmth, easing the door open to see her hugging her pillow, a tiny smile on her face.

He had a feeling he always slept in the same bed as Bolly.

Easing the duvet aside and trying to move as slowly as possible, he levered himself up from the sofa, standing up fully beside it. Someone had dressed him in pyjamas, strangely familiar ones. Evidently Bolly had been in to care for him since getting back from Luigi's. It was strangely comforting.

For a moment he just watched her, some emotion he couldn't quite put a name to coursing through his body, eclipsing the aches and pains, his whole world suddenly centred on her.

She shifted slightly, nuzzling into the pillow, murmuring into the fabric.

"Gene..."

He could only watch her, the feeling so strongly focusing on his being increasing.

Silently, he slipped over to the bed, lying down on the other side, lifting the crimson duvet over himself and smiling as her warmth defrosted his chill body. His foot touched Bolly's.

He was out like a light.

* * *

><p>Alex awoke early the next morning, snuggled up to a familiar body, a leg hooked in between hers.<p>

For a second she wondered what was happening, but when she opened her eyes it was all she could do to stop herself laughing out loud from sheer joy.

Gene's messy blond head was nestled into her chest, his face just about visible beyond it, peaceful and still fast asleep; even the cuts on his cheek and neck seemed tranquil, healing steadily. Her arm was slung over his chest, resting on his back, their legs intertwined beneath the duvet. She could feel his steady pulse on her stomach, his warmth mingling with hers. He was utterly beautiful.

He was sleeping like a baby, each breath ghosting over her clavical bone. Peaceful.

Alex beamed at his unconscious form, and then lay back down beside him, cuddling into his slumbering form once again as the same blissfulness re-claimed her.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for the delay, and I think I got a bit carried away with this chapter- despite that, I'm not sure about it at all. I only hope you like it. Please, please, please remember to review! Jazzola


	4. The Reality

"This is CID, Gene. You and I work here, you said, remember? I'm a DI, you're DCI. The glass room is your office."

Ray's instruction to get everyone else out of CID had been acted on, really quite promptly; it had only taken a couple of minutes for Gene and Alex to be alone in CID, Gene having remained in the Quattro at the back until everyone else was in the canteen having a snack and a chat. Too many people would bring too many memories, which could overwhelm him. No more mental trauma than was necessary.

Gene himself now stood running his fingers over the handle of his office, his eyes on his name, printed on the door in front of him.

"So I… sit in 'ere. An' everyone else is out 'ere."

"That's right. And because you're a lazy bugger, you're generally smoking or playing darts."

Gene grinned to himself. That was one thing he did remember, the excessive amount of lazing around that went on in this office.

"Or shoutin'."

"There is a lot of shouting. Plenty of shouting. Not always at you," Alex teased, rubbing his shoulder. He let her, revelling in the recently-rediscovered intimacy they had. _I could get used ter this…_

"DCI Hunt?"

Gene turned round, something firmly telling him that it was him being addressed, his eyebrows drawing together as his gaze found a man standing in the doorway, a tentative smile on his lips. Alex instinctively put her hand on her DCI's arm.

"Do you- can you remember me?" the man asked slowly, as though talking to a child. Gene glared.

"No. So stop talkin' ter me like I'm an imbecile an' give me an 'and. 'Oo are you?"

The man stared for a moment, and then burst out laughing, putting a hand on Alex's desk as he chuckled. Gene looked completely at sea.

"Bolly, is 'e the local lunatic or somethin'?"

"No, Gene. That's the Chief Super," Alex said simply, trying so hard not to burst out laughing her jaw hurt. Chief Superintendent Jones nodded, standing up and straightening his clothing.

"Chief Superintendent Richard Jones. I approved your transfer here in 1980. A little while ago now. You were a DCI at the GMP, do you remember? Your DI, Sam Tyler, died, and you put in for a transfer to London along with DS Ray Carling and DC Chris Skelton, who are both members of this CID. DI Tyler died in a car crash in your car whilst pursuing a gang of armed robbers. DI Drake here joined in July 1981, an eagerly-awaited new recruit. I was told she was in the middle of an undercover mission when she joined here, helped to bring down the head of a drugs ring, a nasty little man named Arthur Layton… Gene? Gene, are you alright?"

It was too much information in one go. Gene sank into the nearest chair, sheltering his aching head in both hands, blocking out the Chief Superintendent's words. It was rushing in front of his eyes, Sam Tyler, the upturned car, throwing him against a filing cabinet and then shoulder to shoulder with him in front of a cool store, Ray with his moustache and constant cigarette and Chris with his hangdog expression and his child-like enthusiasm, Annie crying into his chest at Sam's funeral, Alex dressed as a prostitute, Alex, _Alex, _not Bolly, not Bollinger-Knickers, she was Alex, she was smiling and teasing and arguing with him and kissing him and shagging him and she was his whole world, people talking to him, Hunt the…

"Gene? Gene, look up at me. Gene, look at me. Focus on me. Gene. Gene!"

Chas Cale fitting, Gaynor Mason demanding money for information, Gil Hollis, Shaz, _Shaz, _covered in blood and lying on the road, dead- and it was a dagger in his heart, he could barely believe it, and then she brought her back and then she'd forgiven him…

A new face. Straight, dark hair. Sunglasses. A chunky silver ring.

_You think you're so clever, don't you, DCI Hunt? Don't you?_

_ Don't make me hurt you, Tony. Drop the knife._

_ What you gonna do to me?_

_ We've got evidence. We found yer mobile. The texts, the YouTube history. Your Facebook an' yer friends' names. Yer computer's being seized now. What's the bettin' we'll find more o' the same, eh? Drop the knife. It won't 'elp._

_ What, killin' you?_

_ Yeah. Killin' me._

Alex's hand on his arm.

1983. It's 1983.

_You got any kids, DCI Hunt?_

_ No. Why're you askin'?_

_ Just findin' out who'll miss you when I've killed you._

_ Plenty of people, Tony. More people than'd miss you. Just 'cos I'm not from around 'ere doesn' mean I 'aven't made my mark. Just like you 'ave. Just that I've been a good boy, I've be'aved myself, people _like _me, Tony. People think I'm a good person. Wouldn' you prefer that, ter prison, ter a life be'ind bars? Would you prefer people ter think yer a good person? 'Cos killers don't tend ter get that much good publicity._

_ Don't need it. I'll be a legend. Cop killers always are._

_ Why would yer be a legend, Tony? Because yer killed someone? An innocent man?_

_ You put my dad be'ind bars, you bastard! You're not innocent!_

A flash of a knife. Dripping with blood.

Pain… everywhere… so much pain…

_Gene! Gene! God, help, someone call an ambulance… Gene, stay with me, stay with me, Gene, come on, open your eyes- Gene, don't fall asleep! Don't fall asleep, Gene! Remember what you told me? You'll feel tired, you'll want to close your eyes and sleep, but don't, resist it, with every inch of your body, resist it, Gene! Remember Max? Anne? Stay awake, Gene, stay awake for your Maxy, yeah? Gene? Come on. That's it. Nice steady breathing now. You'll be absolutely fine, won't you? Of course you will. Won't you, Gene?_

_ The pavement in front of his eyes. Red._

_ And then he was too tired to stay awake._

_ Gene! Gene, NO!_

"Sir, can you get an ambulance? I think we need to get Gene to hospital."

"Of course."

Two different voices, different to the ones he'd just been hearing. Gene squeezed his eyes tightly shut, belatedly realising that he'd seized his own hair with his hands, almost ripping it from his skull with the pressure.

_Uncle Gene! Look at this guy ripping his own hair out on YouTube!_

_ Why would I want ter look at that, Max?_

_ You're boring! Yer just on yer BlackBerry all the time._

_ Boring? I'm boring, am I?_

_ Yeah!_

_ Come 'ere- I'll give yer borin'!_

_ Ahh! Help! Mum! Uncle Gene, put me dooooown!_

Disapproval written all over her face.

_Gene, what've I told you? Max is hyper at the best of times, you getting him all excited won't help when I'm putting him to bed! And don't make nag faces behind my back! You're a bad influence, you are. Max, you better never go into the police force, look what it does to you._

_ What's wrong wi' me, eh, Max? Not boring, am I?_

_ Nah. Nah, you're not boring, Uncle Gene!_

"Gene… Gene, take my hands. Put your hands in mine, Gene."

There were two small, soft hands, not so unlike Max's, suddenly in his. Gene grasped them with all his strength, slipping off the chair into a careful embrace, supported by two hands on his shoulders. The floor beneath him felt like it was spinning.

"The ambulance is on its way, Gene. You're going to be fine. You're just having a bit of trouble, aren't you? Nothing serious."

Gene found it in himself to nod, pulling Alex into a hug, not caring what he must look like, sprawled on the floor like an overgrown toddler. He did this all the time with Max anyway, letting the boy clamber all over him, that might have to stop now though…

_Max._

"Max," he choked out, pulling Alex into an even harder embrace. Alex frowned.

"Who's Max?"

"My godson… my little Maxy. I… I want ter wake up…"

"Gene, you don't have a godson. Why did you think you had a godson?"

"I do! My Max! You- you just don't know him. An' Anne… Mother Teresa in jeans."

"What? Gene, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know!"

Gene curled into a ball, shielding his face from the world. He could hear people outside, could feel the hush as they came into the room and found him writhing on the black and white tiles like an overgrown toddler. He didn't care. They could think of him what they would. When the ambulance came he'd be OK. Maybe he'd be able to go back to Max and Anne.

Whoever they were.

_Reports that the police officer has died in hospital were found to be false after a document had been misplaced. We apologise for the mistake._

"Bugger off," Gene moaned into the tiles, making to cover his ears with his hands. He'd never liked the news, especially not with that Louise Minchin, she always irritated him.

_And the man at the back said everyone attack, gonna turn into a Ballroom Blitz…_

"The ambulance is 'ere- 'e's in 'ere, yer lookin' fer Gene Hunt, yeah? 'Ere."

Ray's voice. Gene craned up, his eyes narrowed in pain, watching as the paramedics made their way to him, easing him up onto a stretcher. He was cold, shivering, and yet he didn't know why.

"Gene, can you hear me? We're going to take you to hospital, and they'll be able to make you feel more comfortable, OK? You're in pain, is that right?"

A nod set his skull on fire.

"OK. I'm going to give you some morphine, for the pain, would you like that?"

"Yeah…"

"OK. You'll feel a sharp scratch, but it'll help, OK?"

The promised scratch made him yelp, clinging to Alex with his free hand, but he bore it out, managing a tiny smile for her as the paramedics eased him onto the stretcher. Ray moved forwards to nod at him, visibly worried, and Gene twitched his lip back, beckoning for Ray to come closer and hissing 'get me a scotch fer when I get out, I'm parched' in his ear before being borne away. Ray couldn't chuckle, but he managed a strangled grin.

_Wake up, Uncle Gene. The knife went into your tummy, so why's there something wrong with your head? Mum said you have to be asleep until you're better, but I don't want you to be asleep. And there must be something wrong with your head because you've been asleep for so long. Why have you got a tube in your mouth? I don't understand… can you open your eyes and talk to me? They'll have to take the tube out, but you'll be more comfortable without the tube, won't you? It must be weird, having a tube in your mouth all the time. Please wake up, Uncle Gene, I want you to come home with me and play Sleeping Dinosaurs on the lounge floor with me…_

_Uncle Gene? I've got to go now. I love you, Uncle Gene. Please be awake by tomorrow._

* * *

><p>AN: Well. That ran away with me somewhat. Can I go home now please, Mr Chapter? Actually, I think this chapter was more of a Mrs Chapter. What do you think?

…

Yeah. Sorry.

Please remember to review, and I'm sorry for the delay, but sixth form happened to me. Merry Christmas to all reviewers, and a bit of soggy tinsel to everyone who dares go off without reviewing…


	5. The Telling

He was comfortable. Swaddled in blankets and with Alex cuddling him, resting her head on his chest, avoiding the morphine drip in his elbow.

He wondered inwardly if Max was in bed. If he was dreaming of his godfather, the time they'd spent together. Perhaps the day Gene had taken him to London Zoo, Max on his shoulders, and threatened to throw him to the lions, instead pulling the boy off his shoulders and hugging him fiercely. He'd ended up buying Max a cuddly toy lion at a rip-off price from the gift shop, but when Max had named the lion Genie it had all been worth it. He knew from Anne that Max slept with Genie on his bed.

Anne. _Mother Teresa in jeans. _Devoted charity worker and his best friend… but he could never remember any more about her. Max he had some more clarity with, but Anne was still blurry, a dream's dream.

The only thing for certain any more was Alex.

He snuggled further into her arms, trying to make it as manly as possible. Her soft brown hair was in his eye, but he ignored it, savouring its velvet feel, her warmth as she held him. How could he leave her, for a little boy he just about knew and a woman he wouldn't be able to tell from a complete stranger? She _was _a stranger to him. The only things he knew about her were her name, her nickname, and the fact that she was Max's mother. Nothing else. Not even her hair colour, or her skin colour, or even how old she was. Nothing.

"Stop thinking, Gene," Alex said softly beside him, squeezing him gently, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He huffed a chuckle, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

_Did you see that, Mum? He moved! Uncle Gene moved!_

_ He did, didn't he, Max? Do you think he might be waking up?_

_ I hope he is._

_ It's awful, isn't it, nurse? The Met can't take care of its officers. Our Gene, and then this other officer they've been reporting on the news- it's awful. Something'll have to be done about it. I've a few ideas._

He had to keep grounded. Things would work out in the end. Surely.

Gene slowly opened his eyes, his gaze falling to the brown curly head snuggled into his body, his arms instinctively tightening around her.

Anne had been talking about another officer.

He was too tired to figure out what it meant.

"Gene, I can hear the cogs turning from here. They must be pretty rusty," Alex teased gently from beneath his chin, putting a hand up to press against Gene's cheek. He huffed, biting the tip of her ear in retribution before lying back again, too tired to keep puzzling. Something would come up and everything would be sorted out… and he still had to get all of his memory back. He still only remembered some bits of the last few years; some things Alex had mentioned when he'd woken up had still been blanks. Better he regained his sense of self before he made any radical decisions.

That and the morphine was addling his brains so much it almost hurt to do anything apart from sleep.

_Everythin'll still be 'ere in the mornin', _he told himself firmly as he closed his eyes to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Excuse me, young man, but visiting hours are over. You've got to go home now.<em>

_ But Uncle Gene moved. Mum said he might be waking up._

_ If your Uncle Gene wakes up, we'll call your mum's mobile immediately and she can bring you here to see him. It's only ten minutes from your house, right? He looks pretty deeply asleep to me. He's been moving about ever since he had his accident, people do move sometimes when they're sleeping. I bet you do._

_ But he doesn't move that much._

_ No, maybe not. I'm sorry, Max, but I don't think you should get your hopes up for him waking up today. It's better you go home now._

Max's small feet, scuffing towards the door.

_ You know what I'm thinking, doctor? It'd be a miracle if the poor sod woke up now. That little boy's so sweet, too. Always happens to the nice kids._

_ Mm, well. Gene's a strong man. But I agree that his chances are slim if he keeps going the way he is now. Perhaps upping the dosage here a bit?_

A long, pregnant pause.

_ That's risky. You know it is._

_ It's our last straw. Nothing else is going to work. Gene's in too deep a coma for therapy and we don't have anything else that could help him. It's going to have to be make or break time soon._

_ But our success rate…_

Success rate? Too deep a coma?

_ Bloody hell!_

My thoughts exactly… wait. What's 'appened?

_ I don't think Gene's too deep to hear us. Look at that- quite a surge. Calm down, Gene. You're safe. Do you think you can squeeze my hand? Or just move your finger? Just move your finger for me. Any finger._

Gene's fingers clench on Alex's.

_ Well, well. Not quite ready to give up just yet, are you, Gene? Not in the slightest. I think we'll suspend any decisions regarding the dosage for the moment, Natalie. There's definitely something happening, wherever he is, and these readings indicate to me that he's moved into a shallower coma. That's quite a strong grip he has on your hand there._

_ It's like with a newborn baby. The wonder as their little fingers grasp yours. I'm so used to him being unresponsive… I'm getting all teary. Are there any tissues around, doctor?_

_ There you go. I might need one too if there's any more. Come on, Gene. Do you think this is it? Make or break? Can you open your eyes?_

A second pause, this time filled with excitement.

_No. Too soon for that. Not to worry, Gene. I'm certainly more optimistic than before. This could be the beginning of the end, you know. The end of your coma. We just need a little more response than before. Whatever world you're in, you know, it's not real. It's your mind. It's not real._

No it's bloody not!

_Gene? Wow. That's quite a burst of adrenaline there… I wonder if a little more would help… no, I don't think so. He's become very attached to whatever's in there. That's… worrying, but good too._

_ Doctor! Doctor, next door, they're saying Alex Drake needs some help. Oh… no, they've got it under control. An infection, they said she had, but they gave her 50 millilitres- you know what I mean- and she's been steadily improving since._

Bolly? What? Bolly's there? She's OK? Bolly'll be OK? What's 'appened to 'er?

_Gene? Do you know, I think they might be involved with each other somehow. Look at the readings- every time Alex is mentioned, he has a burst of adrenaline. It's quite fascinating. Have someone look into them, would you? She's never visited, but perhaps they're colleagues. It could be good for them both._

_ OK. We'd best leave him now, he'll need rest._

_ You keep it up, Gene. Keep showing us that life you've got in there. We want to see it. You'll be fine if we see more of it. You want to come back to Max, and Anne, and hopefully Alex? Then wake up._

Max, Anne and Alex…

_That's it. You like that suggestion. I look forward to seeing what colour your eyes are, Gene._

* * *

><p>"Eat, Gene. I got it specially, Luigi got out of bed early to make it for you. Come on, darling, you need to keep your strength up."<p>

Gene sighed and carried on picking at the steaming plate of steak and chips in front of him, his gaze distant as Alex shifted the plate over onto her own lap and started force-feeding him, cutting the steak up into small pieces and pressing each forkful to his lips until he opened them to take the food in. He could tell without looking that she had a huge frown on her face, but didn't really care.

Max was talking to him.

_Hi, Uncle Gene. I brought your BlackBerry in, I thought you might like it. But it has to be switched off. I dropped it on the coffee table, I'm really sorry, the back got scratched- Mum says you've got insurance on it, but I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to._

_ Genie's paw's coming apart. I tried to put a needle in, like they did to your hands, but Brezzie startled me and Genie got ripped. He misses you, Mum says. Whenever he goes out, he always sniffs at your car, like he's waiting for you to come out and take him on a walk. I didn't know dogs could miss people. Do you miss me, Uncle Gene? I miss you. I miss you loads and loads._

_ The doctors said you're going to wake up soon. Please wake up, Uncle Gene. Please?_

And then a whirring sound, and Max was gone, and Gene seized the plate and stuffed chips and steak into his mouth to fill the sudden emptiness left by his godson's absence.

"Gene, slow down, you'll choke!"

He did choke then, coughing and spluttering and eventually retching the food back out, emptying his stomach into the bin Alex hurriedly held to his mouth. Alex was there, as always, holding onto his arm, pressing a kiss to his temple as he recovered. He almost apologised to her, and quickly recovered himself, spitting a little bile out into the bin and growling at a doctor's attempts to check him over.

"Gerroff me! I'm fine!"

"Mr Hunt…"

"I'm FINE! Let me alone!"

The doctor headed away, tutting about 'rude, arrogant police officers'. Gene rolled his eyes in the man's wake, lying back onto the bed and wrinkling his nose at the stench of vomit coming from the bin.

"Luigi needs ter work on 'is steak."

"You need to slow down. What the bloody hell were you doing, Gene?"

"You told me ter eat."

"Don't be cute. For goodness' sake… what is going on, Gene? Do you trust me enough to tell me?"

_She'll think I'm a nutter. I'm turnin' inter Sam Tyler._

"You said ter eat! I ate!"

"Gene!"

"Why is everyone bloody disappointed in me? The Super 'cos I was put back in 'ospital. You 'cos I ate too fast. Max 'cos I can't wake up-"

_Shit._

Gene bridled, pressed his lips together hard, and swore colourfully under his breath.

Alex remained silent for a minute, her eyes glassy, fixed on the rail of Gene's bed.

When she eventually spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper.

"Who is Max, Gene?"

Gene slowly opened his eyes, watching as she carefully took his hand in hers, lifting it to her lips to press them to his wrist.

"You can tell me. I won't laugh at you. I'm mad as a box of frogs, you know. My DCI's always telling me so."

The attempt at humour, despite feeling out of place, worked; Gene snorted, the corner of his mouth quirking up for a second before drooping back to its normal place.

"Max. Never quite sure. Sometimes 'e's this little curly-'aired boy… my godson. An' then other times 'e's just a kid, someone I know but 'ave forgotten. Like a dream."

_Like Molly, _Alex thought but didn't say.

"What about other people? Do you remember anyone else?"

"Anne's 'is mum. My friend. Charity worker. Don't remember 'er a lot."

"And you said… you can't wake up. What do you mean by that, Gene?"

Alex was glad it was Gene hooked up to the ECG monitor at that moment. Her own heart was beating so hard she wondered if she'd have a coronary before Gene could answer her.

Gene himself remained staring at the far wall, hearing his own ragged breathing somewhere deep in his memories, feeling a trembling hand holding his pale one, far too rugged and large to be Alex's.

"Tony Bennett. Twenty-five. Child pornography… I was arrestin' 'im. We didn' know…"

His mouth was drier than a camel's ball-sack. He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering shut.

"We didn't know 'e 'ad a knife."

Alex's hand clenched on his.

"We didn' know," Gene croaked, opening his eyes again, something like pleading in their stormy depths. "Bastards at MIT didn' tell us… didn' say 'e was dangerous. Tried ter negotiate with 'im, but 'e… 'e…"

_I took Brezzie for a walk in the city earlier, Uncle Gene. We went past where you got attacked by the nasty man. There was loads of red on the floor. Mum made me walk faster, and her eyes were all wet. Why was it red?_

"Gene?"

Her green, hazel-flecked eyes were all he could see.

"What year was it?"

His teeth clashed as he answered.

"2008."

* * *

><p>AN: Be thankful I could spare time for this. I have to revise British history from 1914 to 1951 in two weeks for my history A-level exam, and Philosophy on top of that. Thank goodness I only do four subjects now! Please remember to review, because I am majorly stressed out at the moment and could really, really do with some fanfiction love. Or, if you can't manage that, just send me Gene Hunt. Jazzola :D


	6. The Sharing

_Guv? Gene, can you hear me? You there?_

_ They said you've moved into a shallower coma, you're responding to stimuli. That's great. I know you'll wake up soon, I know it in my bones._

_ Your Max's going spare, you know. In here every day, bringing things for you- you've got half the Early Learning Centre in a box by your bed. He brings them in and plays with them while he's talking to you. Sometimes he'll pick your finger up and direct it to do things with the toys. I think he likes to imagine you're playing with him._

_ You were never an attention-seeker, Gene, so wake up, because you can't be comfortable with all the attention on you. Remember your speech when you first got here and took over Bethnal Green CID? "I'm your new Guv. Gene Hunt. I want to be briefed on all current cases, informed of any regular trouble-makers, and mine's a pint later. As you were." I almost pissed myself laughing behind my hand. Couldn't believe we had a comedian for a DCI. Remember, we'd had Johnson before, he bored us all to death and back. Sometimes twice in a day. Wonderful to have someone who felt free to take the piss out of everyone and everything._

_ I'm going to speak frankly now, Gene. You get your arse out of that bed and back to CID, or I'll tell everyone about that stake-out where you fell asleep and DS Brotherson drew on your face in lipstick. And I'll show them the picture, too. Take that as your warning._

_ So wake up._

* * *

><p>"Bolly."<p>

"Mm?"

"Yer crushin' my leg."

"Oh, sorry."

Alex carefully rolled over to spoon Gene from behind rather than lie on top of him, her arms sneaking round his waist to hold him even closer than he'd previously thought possible. He was still drowsy and doped up, the morphine yet to make its way out of his system, but whatever state he was in Alex in his bed with him was much appreciated.

Especially as he now knew she was also from 2008.

She'd told him the whole story, not letting him speak until she was finished, gripping his hand so tightly it had bruised. Arthur Layton, Evan White, and the Prices. Alex Price, his little lady, the grieving young girl he'd visited not so long ago to make sure she was OK, the little lady he'd held in his arms and promised her parents were happy up in the clouds. Her parents' deaths. Her own possible demise. Her daughter. Molly. Little Molly.

Beautiful Molly, whom she'd described in so much detail he felt he knew her already. A fresh-faced, witty, friendly girl, long strong hair, the light of Alex's life, and from the sounds of it, the apple of Evan's eye. He couldn't remember exact prices, but knew from experience that BlackBerrys weren't cheap. His own had practically dried him up for that month. Not that he was living on the bread-line, but he had other financial obligations as well. Like taking Max out somewhere once a week.

He was just drifting through thoughts, going wherever the mood took him, woozy and content snuggled in Alex's arms. 2008 and 1983 were beginning to blur, and he wondered idly if he was going home, wherever home was; back to this ethereal existence in Bethnal Green CID, to Max and Anne, to Brezzie the puppy even. Brezzie, black Labrador, as sweet as his tea. Alex was making him cut back on the sugar, though… some days he wondered if his trousers were getting a bit on the loose side…

"Do you think we'll get back there together?"

Alex's voice was quiet, almost subdued, but he'd been expecting the question at some point. He frowned, reaching back to wind a lock of her hair round his fingers, nuzzling back into her warm, comfortable body as he spoke.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not goin' anywhere without yer, Bolls. Not back ter a world where I can't even remember where I bloody live."

"We might not have a choice, Gene," Alex said, the wobble in her voice making Gene tense. "We might be- split up forever. What we've found out, what we've discovered, it's- it's good, but it's dangerous too- what if one of us died? Probably me… I'd be stuck here forever, and you'd- you'd be there-"

"I'd jump off Tower bloody Bridge."

"No, Gene, don't even say that!"

Her arms tightened round him, protectiveness surging through her chest; Gene craned to look up at her, emotions laid bare before her, the silver-blue of his eyes dark and meaningful.

"I mean it. I bloody mean it."

_Gene, windmilling through the air, coat flying out behind him like a bat._

_ Swept away by the cold river, like Sam… lost forever…_

"No- no, Gene, no!"

And this time there were tears splashing onto his hair, and he wriggled round to free his arm, wiping each one, kissing the trails from her face as she sobbed freely, enveloping him in her arms. He couldn't apologise. They both knew it was the truth.

"Bolly- Bolly. Whatever 'appens, I'll find yer. I promise. I'll find yer. Bloody 'ell, yer only in the next room!"

"I'm in bed with you. What are you talking about?"

"In 'ospital. Yer only in the next room ter me. I 'eard the nurses talkin' about yer. They said yer gettin' better… somethin' about fifty millilitres?"

"Fifty millilitres. That's what I heard. Fifty millilitres and… and I wake up. And see my baby."

"She's been there all the time, I bet," Gene murmured, pressing a kiss to the hair above her ear, breathing in the smell of her shampoo, firmly telling himself she was real. It was _all _real.

_ Whatever world you're in, you know, it's not real. It's your mind. It's not real._

He refused to believe it. Alex, Ray, Chris, Shaz, they were all real, all utterly real. Everyone in this world was. He refused to even think about the possibility that it wasn't, because as soon as he did that, he felt like he was dying.

And he had to live. For Anne. For Max.

For Alex.

* * *

><p><em>Brain activity good, and the wound's healing well. But we might pop you in for a quick procedure sometime in the near future, Gene. I'm sure you'll be fine. It's nothing too crucial, just to check you over a bit. Do you think you might be helped by being off the ventilator for a minute? Can we trust you to breathe on your own, Gene?<em>

The surgeon… talking to Gene.

So I must be hearing this from my own room.

Gene, wake up, you lazy great lump. Your doctor's talking to you. It's important.

_I think we could most definitely try it. Couldn't we?_

Give him the chance to prove himself a bit. Might even help him wake up.

Just remember to wake me up too.

_Hmm. What about if we told you that we've done a scan on Alex, and she looks to be healing very well?_

Me?

_Yes. Now you're interested. There's very negligible damage, I'm glad to say- the bullet didn't do enough damage to kill her, and because she was found quickly enough, we were able to stop the bleed that had developed before it did any significant damage. Of course, there may be small changes, but to be perfectly honest with you, I'd swap my Merc for a Reliant Robin if her personality were altered. I very much doubt it'd impact on her everyday life- if we're lucky, she might not even notice any differences. The tests we've done so far indicate that her skull took the brunt of the force- the angle of the bullet was all wrong to cause damage to the brain specifically- so she'll have the headache from Hades when she wakes up, but she'll still be Alex._

Thank goodness… oh, thank goodness. Thank you, whoever was watching over me that day. Thank you! Thank you!

See, Molly? I'll still be your mum!

_Molly's very interested in those scans, you know… I'm beginning to wonder if she'd enjoy neuroscience. She's barely left the ward. Lovely girl, a breath of fresh air around here. I wonder if you know her?_

He will. One day, he will.

* * *

><p>"Why've yer brought flowers?"<p>

"For Alex. Thought she might like 'em, brighten the place up a bit. Better than single malt. 'E'll be up to 'is eyeballs in meds an' painkillers, there's no way she'll be lettin' 'im drink."

"The Guv lives fer single malt. An' shaggin' Drake."

"Don't be so disgustin', Ray!"

"Yeah, it's, um, inappropriate."

"Poof."

"I think I should be the one to judge if 'e's a poof or not, Ray. Maybe it's you? You certainly seem to talk about 'em a lot…"

"Shut up!"

"Either you stand outside my flat arguing amongst yourselves and risking waking Gene, or you come in. So which are you doing?"

With Alex's quietened wrath ringing in their ears and Luigi peering up from below with a slight smirk on his face, Shaz, Ray and Chris slunk obediently into the flat like scolded puppies, Ray putting his single malt down on the coffee table as Shaz passed her bouquet of flowers to Alex. The beam on her face almost lit up the living room on its own as Alex murmured that they were her favourite flowers and hurriedly gave Shaz a hug, tip-toeing towards the kitchen to find a vase to put them in. _Bless you, Shaz. Finally, something to break up the 80s two-tone of the flat… do I even own a vase?_

After much foraging, the flowers were precariously balanced in a tall mug beside the TV and Ray, Chris and Shaz were squashed up on the striped sofa, squabbling like children over the space in hushed voices; Alex perched on one of the dining chairs, watching with a smile on her face as Ray elbowed Chris over to stop their thighs touching and Shaz promptly pushed him back, Chris visibly resigning himself to being used as a battering ram as Ray and Shaz developed a tug of war between themselves.

"Did you come here to sit on my sofa and argue about how much room there is, or for anything specific?" she asked at length, giving Chris a sympathetic smile as she spoke. Ray rolled his eyes.

"We just fancied poppin' in fer tea an' cakes, Detective Inspector. 'Ow's the Guv?"

"Still sore, still dosed up. Improving in leaps and bounds. I hope you weren't planning on giving Gene that single malt, Ray."

"Course I bloody was! 'E's the Guv. We always get 'im whisky if it's 'is birthday or whatever. 'E's not the easiest bloke ter buy anythin' else for. I got tied ter a lamp-post naked in 1974 fer buyin' 'im a poncy tie as a joke. An' I 'ad ter wear the tie. Fer a bloody week."

"At that I'm not surprised. Gene can have the single malt when he's safely off painkillers."

Ray rolled his eyes, but at the heated glare of his DI refrained from making any further comment.

"Anything new in CID?" Alex was painfully aware that she'd been distancing herself from the action, refusing any real news from her friends in order to concentrate on Gene. Chris shrugged.

"Some old biddy got done in yesterday. We reckon it was the son. Only Fenchurch West's taken it over, their new DCI decided it was on 'is patch an' we let 'im do it 'cos the Guv's away an' you're lookin' after 'im."

"Well, I suppose yer'd better 'op over there an' get it back then, Wonder Chris! My patch, my murder, my result."

Chris jumped at his DCI's voice, all but falling off the sofa as he recovered himself; Gene was leaning against the doorframe, swaddled in a thick dressing gown and barefoot with an amused look on his face. For a second, Alex had a flash of walking downstairs in the morning to find Gene in her 2008 kitchen dressed like that, nattering with Molly as they made breakfast together. _Wishful thinking, or a glimpse of the future?_

"Er, sorry, Guv," Chris muttered, picking at a tear in his jeans. Gene raised his eyebrows.

"An' if 'e won't let it go, tell 'im I'll be over there treatin' 'im ter a little Gene Genie persuasion. Afternoon, Bolls."

"You were fast asleep five minutes ago, how did you know we had company?"

"Two words: single, malt."

"You're incorrigible."

"Ta muchly, Ray. Don't mind if I do."

He made to snatch the single malt from the coffee table, scowling as Alex swiped it into her grasp and tucked it into the inside pocket of her dressing gown.

"Three words: not, with, painkillers."

Gene's scowl was reaching Biblical proportions; Alex held an arm out to him, pulling the other chair over to sit beside hers.

"Stop whinging like a child, Gene, it gives you wrinkles prematurely. You'll have a face like an elephant's ball-sack if you carry on making expressions like that."

_Charmin'. 'Ead full o' brains, common sense of a grain-weevil, an' vocabulary of a sailor._

Gene rolled his eyes, plopping into the chair and leaning back, adopting his favourite position of legs up on the table and crossed at the ankle; Alex looked down at the many marks his feet and boots had left on the table, sighing. _Memo: polish that thing at some point. And start using it as a coffee table rather than a footstool. And by that, I mean actually put something on there at some point. Some candles? A fruit bowl? A mousetrap for the next time Gene puts his bloody feet on there?_

"Earth ter Lady Bolls…"

_Zoning out again. Focus on the here and now, Alex. You might not even be here for much longer, if that surgeon was right._

"Sorry?"

"Harriet Forest. Old woman murdered yesterday. Life insurance, but the son 'ad a panic attack an' 'ad ter be taken ter 'ospital when 'e was told, 'asn't stopped cryin' since. What d'yer think?"

"Unlikely it's him, then. Make sure it's a genuine panic attack, but I doubt that's how a murderer would react. It wouldn't fit the pattern of a calculated murder for money."

_Here and now, Alex. Here and now._

"What other suspects are there? What other family- what's the content of her will?"

She had barely had time to voice the words before an explosion threw them from their seats and to the trembling floor.

_Gene! Molly!_

* * *

><p>AN: Good news! Good news! Hear ye, hear ye, I am the bearer of good news! My exams are over, so I'll actually be updating now! Well. It's good news for me, anyway. I hate not updating. Hope you liked it, and pretty pretty please remember to review! Thanks for reading. Jazzola :D *wanders off ringing town crier's bell and startling random passers-by*


	7. The Loving

"SIGNORINA! SIGNORE HUNT! YOU MUST GET OUT OF THE FLAT!"

Gene barely paused to snatch up the keys to the Quattro before haring out of the flat after the rest of his team, all but falling onto his beloved Audi's bonnet, parked on the kerb outside Luigi's. Flames were beginning to lick at the edges of the building, Luigi's kitchens clearly on fire; Gene checked himself and Alex for injuries, exhaling with relief at the absence of anything bar a couple of minor scratches. _Bloody 'ell… what 'appened then?_

Some kind of sign? A sign that this world, or his part in it, was coming to an end, perhaps?

Gene was strangely calm as the fire engines arrived, he and his team were checked out by a team of paramedics, a squawking Luigi was hurried off to hospital to have stitches in a nasty cut on his arm. The fire, from what he could tell, had devastated the kitchens, but only left the trattoria a bit smoky; he doubted he'd never drink in there again, especially given Luigi's rather impressive turnover most evenings thanks to Fenchurch East CID.

Until the fire crew yelled that the building had become unstable and began putting emergency stabilising into place.

_Shit! Bolly's flat!_

He chanced a look over at her, leaning on the passenger door of the Quattro to stop her legs from buckling with shock; she was pale as cream, her hands shaking as they grasped the pockets of her cardigan, as though to ascertain that it was real, she remained in this world and clothed. _Go an' comfort 'er, yer Neanderthal. She's in shock._

"Bolls," he said gently, almost to himself, approaching her with something approaching caution. "Bolls, yer alright?"

Alex immediately latched herself to him and burst into tears.

"M-my f-flat," she sobbed into his chest, her back juddering with rough breaths, tears soaking into his dressing gown. "Everything… my f-flat…"

Gene couldn't really fully understand why she was quite this upset, and from the strength of her reaction perhaps shouldn't be able to tell why; foregoing understanding in favour of comfort, he simply wrapped her up in his arms and held her close whilst she cried it out on him, clutching his hand in hers, shaking and shaking and shaking even when the fire crew told them the building had been stabilised.

"C'mon, Bolls. Let's get yer somewhere safe, eh?" he told her gently, easing her up and into his arms to carry her to Fenchurch East. The extra pressure on his bare feet reminded him that he'd forgotten his boots, and he swore colourfully as a sharp stone dug into his instep, having to drop her onto the ground again and promptly realising that she was only in socks as well.

"Bugger. We couldn' get some stuff from up in the flat, could we?" he asked a nearby fireman hopefully, mentally crossing his fingers. The fireman shook his head.

"Absolutely not, sir. Nobody'll be up there for a while, it's not safe at all."

He naïvely dared to look back again, and clocked Gene's expression.

"Er, we'll see what we can do."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later and Gene and Alex's clothes were mostly retrieved, the pair themselves dressed and sitting in Fenchurch East CID, awaiting further news. Alex was still trembling, sitting in Gene's big leather chair with a huge tumbler of scotch clasped in both hands, listening to Gene and Chief Superintendent Jones talking quietly outside, the former perched on her desk and looking surprisingly chipper for a man whose home had nearly collapsed only a short time ago. <em>I wish I could be that devil-may-care, Gene Hunt, you bastard.<em>

But she knew it wasn't so much the flat she was mourning. She doubted the flat would even be demolished. Alex was mourning the loss of her calendar.

Every little memory of her time here was stored in that calendar, each red-ink square with symbols carefully inked in, marking important cases, anniversaries, and then later dates with Gene, milestones in their relationship (she blushed to remember the symbol for their first night together), and finally him moving in. It had been like a diary, a record of her life and loving here, so comprehensive it felt more like a blog. Which was a very 21st century word to use for several sheets of A3 paper Blu-Tacked onto her wall, but it seemed the most accurate.

Without the calendar- which, by now, could be gone, could be destroyed, could be burnt to a cinder- she felt like there was something missing from her memory of the 1980s.

She barely even registered Gene walking in, pouring himself a scotch before perching on the edge of his desk, reaching out to tip her face up to his. Once again in command. It lightened her heart unexpectedly to see his serious eyes, his tiny smile above the grey suit he'd had salvaged from the flat. _The Lion back in his habitat. Welcome back, Gene._

"Gas leak, they said, Bolls. Luigi's just off ter kill 'is gas man. Joke, joke!" he added hastily at the look on Alex's face. "They've got someone over ter sort it. The builder's 'ad a look too, said 'e could 'ave it back ter normal within six weeks."

He brushed a tear from her cheek, leaning down to press his lips to hers. Alex felt her stomach clench.

"No more tears, Bolly-Kecks," Gene murmured against her mouth, his hand finding hers beneath the desk. "There's nothin' ter cry over."

* * *

><p><em>Hi, er, Gene. I hope that's how you say it- like jeans. I thought Eugene was a French name? Sorry. Not important. I'm Molly Drake, Alex's daughter. How are you, apart from the obvious? The doctor said they're thinking you'll wake up soon. Like my mum. You know her, but she's never mentioned you, apart from once in her coma. I'm not surprised. Mum doesn't often bring her boyfriends home, she likes to get to know them before introducing me to them. I tend to scare them off- not to worry you, I'm sure I'm perfectly nice.<em>

_ Is it your godson who keeps visiting? Max. He's in here every day, brings toys in and stuff. I remember playing with some of them when I was younger. He's really sweet. He misses you a lot, I can tell. And he tells you everything, stuff he doesn't tell his mum. He's getting bullied, so wake up and sort the bullies out, OK? I used to get bullied, and it was horrible. You need to wake up and stop them bullying him._

_ Your stomach looks awful, all bandaged and sore. They said you were stabbed. It punctured your lung, they said, and then he moved the knife when it was still in you- eurgh. That must have been so painful. I wouldn't want it._

_ But you seem alright. Max adores you, really adores you, so you can't be that bad. I'm joking! I do try to get along with Mum's boyfriends, but she doesn't realise that a lot of them are just using her for sex. She's beautiful, my mum, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you that. And loads of them are too old for her. You're only a couple of years older than Mum- you're thirty-seven, right? So still pretty young. Really. You look older than you are. Sorry. I'm sure you know it._

_ Your mum'll be visiting tomorrow, Eileen. Go on, wake up whilst she's here. That would be brilliant._

_ I've got to get back to Mum, but it's been nice talking to you. Hopefully you'll talk back to me soon. Sleep tight, Gene- but not for too long, OK?_

* * *

><p>Detective Superintendent Richard Jones frowned to himself, sitting in a rather tatty swivel chair seemingly belonging to DS Ray Carling (well, if the scribbled name on the armrest was anything to go by) and watching DCI Hunt and DI Drake through the glass of the door. Gene was quiet, unusually so, certainly; yes, his home had nearly been blown to kingdom come, but Gene wasn't the kind to brood whilst there were things to be doing about it. Normally he'd be storming about demanding names of good builders and off to collar Luigi's gas man and teach him to do a bad job himself, but instead Gene could be found staring blankly at the wall of his office, fiddling with his fingers beneath the desk as Alex sat behind him on his chair, her arms wrapped round his waist.<p>

_Perhaps it's his head injury? If I were in his position, I might be tempted to take it easy too._

But the deep line between Gene's eyes and the almost feverish picking at his thumbnail suggested Gene was agitated rather than relaxing. But agitated about what? His home was safe, temporary accommodation would be easy to find- what did Gene have to be agitated about?

Oh God, Alex wasn't up the spout, was she?

Was she?

Richard tilted his head, trying to get a clearer look through the glass. _Hmm…_

She looked the same as usual… but there was that soft curving of the hips that perhaps, a couple of months before, hadn't been there… it was possible. That was all he was saying.

A smile curved his mouth as he headed out of CID, bidding goodbye to the department as a whole rather than focusing on any one person. He had no intention of going in to disturb Gene and Alex's private moment, especially given DCI Hunt's legendary temper.

Gene would be a good father. Alex would be a wonderful mother. And even if she wasn't pregnant and it was something else, Gene didn't take problems lying down, he faced them head-on and twatted them in the face.

No, they'd be fine. He had a gut feeling about them, one that he was certain he could trust- that whatever this world threw at them, Gene Hunt and Alex Drake really were unbreakable.

* * *

><p>"You're certain it was Molly talking to you?"<p>

"'Ow many Molly Drakes d'yer reckon are 'angin' round that area o' the 'ospital right now, when yer right next door? Course it was your Molly. Talkin' ter me."

"What did you think of her?"

"Seemed a nice kid. Spoke 'er mind, not afraid ter call a shovel a spade. Posh, but that's not 'er fault."

"Oi!"

Alex gently elbowed her partner in the ribs as they lay entwined together on a blow-up mattress in Ray's lounge, kept awake by the sound of Ray's explosive snores in the bedroom next door and the fug of old beer and unwashed sock. Chris' flat could barely accommodate him, let alone Gene and Alex, and Shaz's landlord had a strict policy on bringing people home to stay for the night, so at such short notice it had been Ray's floor or the Quattro.

_On reflection, _Alex thought as she wriggled closer to Gene and buried her nose in the duvet to try and smell something other than week-old curry, _perhaps the Quattro would have been better._

Gene, she was relieved to see, was hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness, his eyes flickering open every so often when she moved only to close again almost immediately. She couldn't sleep, the mixture of a rather explosive day- never mind the pun- and her desire to hear her little girl keeping her firmly in the land of the living; Gene, she knew, was only faring better in the sleep stakes due to utter exhaustion, and Ray doing the best out of them all solely because he was actually sleeping in a bed and not the bumpiest air mattress in the history of air mattresses. _Lucky bastard. _She thought of her own bright red bedclothes and could have wept with desire.

"Bolls, yer still awake?" Gene mumbled sleepily, one bright blue eye flickering open to fix on her. Alex shook her head, reaching up to tenderly stroke his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"No. You're not asleep enough, that's all."

"Cheeky tart."

"And you love it."

"Bloody well right I do."

The fishing was obvious, but welcome; it was the only way Gene would tell her he loved her. Those three little words just refused to come out of his mouth, even when he was so drunk he couldn't tell Alex from Margaret Thatcher, or so sleepy the floor appeared to be covered with a sheet. Alex could never tell if it was machismo, or shyness, or simply that he'd been hurt one too many times in the past after baring his heart like that, but for whatever reason, Gene could only ever tell her indirectly. It didn't matter that much to her. She could feel it, whenever he was nearby, and even when he wasn't. She simply had that aura of a woman in love, who knew she was loved. It was as simple as that. Love beyond words.

As he met her eyes in the gloom and moved his hand to cup her face, she knew he understood too. A man and woman in love, who knew they were loved.

Unbreakable.

And before they knew it they were kissing, lips moving frantically, as though they somehow knew tonight would be their last chance, the final countdown having begun; with only a token protest from Alex he settled himself above her, entered her, slowly, drawing out the sensations, a generous lover in every sense of the word as he pleasured her until she sobbed and cried out into the duvet. They rocked together, joined forever, joined at the most acute of points possible, feeling each others' hearts beat they soared towards that ultimate pleasure together, gasping for each other, desperate, loving, and finally sated as they rested once again. The simple joy of union, in body and in soul, in everything.

Neither of them even realised that they'd forgotten to use contraception.

* * *

><p>When Alex awoke in the morning, it was to a cold bed.<p>

She was alone.

* * *

><p>AN: Soo… where's Gene? I should turn that into a comic book. It would be incredibly popular, I bet. Please remember to review, and I hope very much that you enjoyed my random scribblings as much as I enjoyed writing them! Jazzola :D


	8. The Leaving

"'Ello, my darlin'. My beautiful boy. 'Ow yer doin'? I 'ope yer feelin' better now. Yer look a bit better, any road. The colour's back in yer cheeks. Oh, my boy… I don't think I could've lived with meself if yer'd died an' the last time we'd been together we'd argued… an' over somethin' so trivial. I was wrong, my darlin'. Wrong. I'm sorry.

"Yer goin' ter be the considerate lad I brought up an' open yer eyes fer me? What about our Maxy? Our gorgeous little thing. Little Max. Anne'll be comin' in later, she's got some charity car wash an' then she's goin' ter work fer the afternoon. I'm pickin' Max up from school, so I might bring 'im straight 'ere an' they can visit then. Eh? Our lives 'ave centred around you, Gene bloody Hunt. An' you don't even bloody know it. No courtesy anymore, is there? Yer'd think yer'd open yer eyes at some point, say 'ello. An' yer can now, they've changed yer vent. Did yer know that? Maybe feel it? Yer on a nasal vent now, in case yer wake up. Yer look bloody weird, all strappin' round the back o' yer 'ead an' everythin'. But I can do this…"

A faint, warm pressure on his lips. A foreign breath feathering across his face.

"I know yer always protest when I do that, but oh, Gene, I've been waitin' ter do that fer weeks now. Can't yer open yer eyes an' bawl me out now? Isn' that what yer always do? Come on, sweetie. Please."

Someone taking his hand. Soft, warm fingers on his, the smooth sheen of a ring.

"Genie, come on now. Yer've been out fer so long now… we can't carry on like this. I can't. I can't go back ter Manchester 'avin' seen yer now. Before, I… I could go back, because I didn' want ter see yer so frail an' lifeless. I know it's not what other people say, but it would be 'arder than I could ever manage ter sit 'ere an' watch yer die… but yer won't. Yer won't. Not now."

Everything was dark, and yet there was so much light hidden from him, right in front of him. He tried to feel for Alex beside him, but to his horror, nothing would move.

"Gene? Yer 'eartbeat… doctor, what's 'appenin'?"

"I don't know. He's just had a burst of adrenalin. I think he might be able to hear you… Gene? Gene, can you hear me? Can you hear your mother?"

"Gene? Darlin'? Please, Genie. Wake up."

"Gene, can you try moving your fingers for me? Your mother's holding your hand. Can you try and squeeze her fingers? Just give it a go for us, Gene. Come on."

Alex? Where was she? Where was Alex? Where was he, what was happening-

Gene panicked, thrashing away from the doctor and his mother, pain ripping through his body as he writhed, eyes still closed. Something was forcing him to breathe from the outside, and he wanted to reject it, but when his hand strayed too close to it someone grabbed him and pulled his hand away from it.

"Gene- Gene, stay still. Gene-"

"Gene, yer stupid lump, lie still! Yer gettin' yer IVs all over the bed. Lie _still!_"

His mother's voice shocked him into submission. Gene forced himself to stop moving, and almost immediately the pain enveloping his stomach subsided.

_What the bloody 'ell's goin' on?_

"OK, Gene. All settled now, no harm done. Do you think you can move your fingers for us? Nice and careful."

Someone was holding his hand, he could feel that now as he squeezed their fingers. Definitely his mam. He'd know those gentle fingers anywhere.

And the ring. The ring her second husband had given her, the same husband whom Gene hadn't even met for a year after they were wed, so scared he was that he would be just like his father. The ring he'd admired as Eric stood by and smiled, with the three little diamonds his mother had given names to.

Her ring was beneath his fingers, his alarmingly weak fingers as they tried to bring his mam's hand closer, tried to work out what was happening, where Alex was, what had happened to Ray's flat-

His eyes slipped open almost of their own account.

He must have overslept. He was so tired.

Shadows blinked and danced all around him, nothing distinct, everything swathed in this all-pervading bright light. He was waiting for Alex's brown curls to emerge from somewhere, for her grin as she teased him about being a lazybones, her hand on his as she threw his clothes at him and told him to get his grabbable arse in the shower before she did something he could class as sexual harrassment.

"Gene? 'E's wakin' up… oh, Gene!"

And then his mother was there, beaming through her tears. His mother. Mammy.

Not Alex.

Not even bloody Ray.

_What…_

And then it hit him, with the force of a nuclear bomb.

He was home.

Alone.

Without Alex.

"Gene? Gene, what's wrong? Sweet'eart, what's wrong?"

The doctor was standing there, a drip lead in his hands, staring down at Gene with confusion written on his weather-worn face.

"Alex?" he whispered, his voice no more than a strained whisper. The doctor's eyes flicked from Gene to his mother, something akin to hesitation in his face.

"Alex," he pleaded, almost begging, struggling to sit up and failing miserably. "Alex… OK?"

"Alex will be fine, Gene. But she won't wake up for a while. I'm afraid she had another infection, and it's knocked her for six- she won't be back with us for a while."

He stopped there, but it was hanging in the air, unspoken: _if ever_.

Mrs Hunt grasped her son's hand tighter, a single tear slipping down her face.

_So she's stuck in the eighties without me, an' I'm stuck 'ere in 2008 without 'er. Oh, bloody 'ell. Bloody bloody 'ell._

Gene turned his face away and tried in vain to stop his chin wobbling.

He didn't want to be here any more. He wanted to be with Alex, in the 80s, with the Quattro and Ray and Chris and Shaz. He wanted to storm into CID with Alex at his side and clump over the chessboard tiles in his snakeskin boots. He wanted normality. He wanted _Alex._

"Gene? Say somethin'. Talk ter us, Gene."

He didn't want to talk.

"Gene? Doctor-"

"Mrs Hunt, Gene's waking up from a coma. He will be confused, he may have mixed emotions for a while. Just let him wake up and everything will come back to him."

_It already 'as. I've left Bolly on 'er own in the 80s. I don't even know if she will wake up 'ere. Nothin's certain._

_ Everythin' 'urts._

"Gene, sweetie. Look round at me. Yer scarin' me now. Gene?"

He pulled his hand away from his mam, curling up on the opposite side of the bed. She was hurt, he could tell from the change in the atmosphere. He didn't care.

"Is 'e alright? Gene, I'm sorry, I'm sorry about the argument. I was bein' silly. I'm sorry."

_What argument?_

Nothing made sense anymore. Gene closed his eyes, desperate to escape whatever had just happened to him, ignoring his mother gently pulling the sheets up over him. He didn't have the strength to resist her taking his hand again.

Sleep wouldn't come, and Gene lay for hours in silence, trying to imagine brown curls tickling his chin, sparkling eyes flashing as they teased him, slim, elegant fingers on his. The doctor, when someone he was fairly sure was Anne turned up, was adamant that only his mother could be in there for the moment. _Gene's confused, very tired, he's had an emotional day. I'm sorry, but no more visitors. Maybe tomorrow. _Gene had no strength to argue.

There was only one visitor he wanted, and she might never hold his hand again.

Gene closed his eyes again and tried to ignore his mother's silent weeping.

* * *

><p>One week.<p>

One week since she had woken up and Gene had been nowhere in sight.

Gene was now officially a Missing Persons and CID had already combed the city for him. Alex had been with them, calling his name down alleyways, questioning the clientele of local restaurants, bars and pubs. Nobody had seen Gene Hunt, nobody had heard where he might be.

He'd left his warrant card, the Quattro keys, everything important to him, and vanished in the fairytale puff of smoke.

He didn't even have the bloody decency to ring.

Alex kidded herself he was still there, because it was less painful. Less painful than the realisation that Gene had gone home, that he'd woken up, he was back in 2008 with Molly and his Max. So far out of her reach he may as well have been dead.

For now, and perhaps for ever.

She'd heard the doctors. Since the fifty millilitres, she'd begun slipping back down, her health had deteriorated and she'd had another infection. Only a small one, but anything was detrimental for Alex at the moment. She'd been shivering as she'd combed the streets of London, searching for a tiny wisp of hope somewhere amongst the hookers and loan sharks and disinterested passers-by. Nothing had helped, or worked. Her future was uncertain, and all she could think about was whether it would contain Gene and Molly, or not.

_God damn you, Arthur Layton!_

She was sorely tempted to find him, simply so that she could kick seven bells out of him for landing her in a position worse than impossible. He had no idea what his future self would do to her… but that didn't bother Alex. Frustration seemed to be the only emotion she ever felt nowadays. That and loneliness.

Alex looked up at Gene's old office, the title of DCI GENE HUNT still proud and tall emblazoned on the door. His sports trophies and posters, fag filters, the pen she'd so often seen him sucking as he doodled on that pad of paper he kept in his locked drawer. Overflowing in-tray, almost empty out-tray, and a pending tray heaped so high it would give Mount Everest a run for its money. So _Gene_.

She bent her head again and let a solitary tear drip onto the file she was pretending to read.

* * *

><p>"Gene?"<p>

He was cold. Shivering, and yet nobody was helping him warm up. Someone had taken his sheets off him.

"Sorry, Gene. We'll get you warmed up soon. Let's have a look at your stomach, shall we?"

The person hovering above him was plucking at his robe, pulling it up, exposing his worryingly thin body to the cool air. Thank goodness he had his boxers on. A man had to keep some dignity.

"That's looking fine. Yes, healing very well."

"What's 'ealin'?"

He was croaky and hoarse, his tongue feeling too large for his mouth. The someone smiled, easing him up, shining a bright light on his midriff to reveal a wound, thick stitches everywhere, running from just below his breast bone to his belly button. Gene winced. _Christ. Tony really did 'ave it in fer me._

"It was a severe wound, but we repaired the internal damage and you'll be back on your feet soon. Do you feel ready to see your mother again?"

"She said… we argued. What… about?"

_I never argue with Mam. It's just somethin' I don't do. Apparently that's different 'ere._

"I'm sorry, Gene. I don't know. Perhaps you should ask her yourself?"

_Take the bull by the 'orns, Genie boy._

"OK."

"Brilliant. Let's get you re-robed and a bit warmer and then I'll tell her she can come in."

"Doctor! Alex Drake, we need your opinion on her condition."

_Alex!_

"Alex, I need ter-" he choked out, trying to push himself off the bed; the nurses and doctor grabbed him, firmly keeping him in place. Not letting him be near Alex.

Gene could have cried with frustration.

"Gene, you need to stay here. I'm sorry. I'll tell you how Alex is as soon as I've tended to her. I will be right back, because you need these dressings changed and a scan. OK? I'll try not to be too long."

He patted Gene's shoulder and left, disappearing as the ward sister began fussing over him, moving drips and wires and putting Gene's robe back on. He ignored her, his gaze fixed on the door, heart pounding and chest aching, burning in the knowledge that his Bolly was in danger and there was nothing, _nothing, _he could do.

His Bolly might never be his again, and there was nothing he could do except make good on his threat to jump off Tower Bridge.

And where would that leave him?

Was he even capable of that?

Could he leave Max, and Anne, and his Mam, for an existence he didn't know was real?

But then, what was this one? And who was he here? Was he the same, the Gene Genie, or was he some limp-wristed pen-pusher, giving people fake smiles from behind some God-forsaken desk in the middle of a police station?

Gene closed his eyes, hugged himself hard round the chest, and tried to remember who he was.

* * *

><p>AN: Gene doesn't know who he is. Alex is still in the 80s with a diminishing chance of getting home and a rapidly worsening life. And my mum is on her way to Londis to get me a Flump. Oh yeah, that's not really relevant to the story, is it? I just really like Flumps. Sorry. Anyhow… sorry for the delay, but I haven't been very well. (Understatement.) So please review, and keep tuned for the sequel to Who's Gene?, in which Gene just might be able to understand himself a little better, and Alex just might be able to find herself too…


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